


A Diadem of Dead Stars

by AuteurOnirique



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Classical Music, M/M, Underage Drinking, angbang, black metal band!au, i'm not sure about half the things i'm writing, modern!AU, teenage rebels, this will not be a healthy relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 08:04:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3602601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuteurOnirique/pseuds/AuteurOnirique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mairon is a cellist in his high school band. Melkor has a black metal band. Mairon doesn't see the connection at first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Diadem of Dead Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! 
> 
> So, first of all, thank you for clicking on the title. I know there are a lot of great fanfics on this pairing and I love them so I thought, why not try it? So, this is bound to be a disaster. Many things are not sure yet so all suggestions are very welcome. (And English is not my first language, so...)
> 
> The main pairing is Melkor and Mairon but as I love secondary characters, you will see them have stories and ships too. Mairon is 18 and Melkor is 28. I picture them both as the versions by the oh-so-talented Phobs. I love the other fan arts, I really really do, they are all so talented but Phobs' version fits the modern!au better. 
> 
> The title is actually the name of a black metal band and well, it fits Melkor particularly well with the added bonus of being a beautiful title. I am currently working on a black metal fan mix to accompany this fic. The link will be added when it is complete. All the chapter titles will be inspired by black metal songs. 
> 
> This first chapter is safe for everyone to read. Please, tell me what you fought about it even if you didn't like it. I hope you do, tho. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Mairon rolled his shoulders to relax his arms. Aulë was far from merciful today. The young man longed to stretch his legs. Ten more minutes, he thought, and I will be able to. While the conductor was nearly shouting on one of the first violins, Mairon stretched his sore neck. Doing so, he spotted a dark figure in the crowd of the usual parents, friends and younger pupils coming to see the musicians progress. 

He barely had time to watch him that Aulë’s powerful voice brought him back to the stage: ”And you, Mairon, you rush into it, as if you wanted to be rid of of the piece. Not good. At all. Curunìr, you are following Mairon too much so you make the exact same mistakes. One last time and make it good.”

The young man nearly rolled his eyes. He wanted to be good but they had been working on Spohr for more than a month. Solely on Spohr. Sometimes, it seemed it was all they were working on. Mairon knew he shouldn’t complain until he was perfect at it but it bore him. He wanted to hear something different, to play something different! The repetitions were the most bearable time of the school day but if they became boring in turn… 

He looked at the other cello, Curunìr. They shared one last sigh before getting ready to start again. 

***

”Olòrin, good with the violon, maybe more assurance in it. Just repeat the piece over and over until it feels natural. That should do… Mairon… Better. Still a bit too fast but better. Curunìr, you need to focus on something else than Mairon. Focus on Olòrin so you get the tempo right. That will do for today but I still expect better of you.” Aulë finished before letting them go. 

Mairon finally let his head fall back and closed his eyes. Curunìr chuckled next to him, already putting his cello back with the utmost care. He had forgotten everything about the stranger until he heard someone cough politely. He nearly jumped and opened his eyes, nearly letting his bow slip from his fingers. He whipped his head behind to look at the man standing patiently on the stage. 

He was handsome. How so handsome. Tall, black hair, square jaw, casual black clothes underlining his muscular figure. Yet, something was off. Maybe it was his deathly pale skin or the fact that his hair was so long or his eyes… His eyes were captivating under black thick eyebrows and thick eyelashes, they were bottomless darkness with something shining so bright inside Mairon momentarily forgot that he was staring. 

”Aulë can be very stern sometimes.” A deep voice interrupted his rêverie. 

The young man had to have a double-take at that. That voice was… fascinating. The man probably sung. It was deep like the ocean dragging you in to drown you in a kingdom with no light… He should probably go easy on the literature homework… The man’s lips curled into something of a smirk and Mairon suddenly realized he looked dim-witted with all his staring. 

”He should be.” He replied shortly before returning to his instrument and carefully putting it in its case. 

By his side, Curunìr was collecting his partitions as slowly as he could to wait for Mairon. He didn’t seem any less captivated by the man than he was. 

Now that he was facing the rest of the musicians (the one who were not in a hurry to leave for the day) the cellist saw there was tension in the air. Everyone was stealing glances at the man or at Aulë who looked the most tense of all. Probably not a good idea to associate with mystery-man too long then. 

”You’d be very good with other styles of music… ” The man resumed. 

Did he not understand Mairon didn’t want to talk to him or did he just not care? 

”I guess we’ll see when I’ll try them.” He replied, not looking back at the man. 

How old was he, anyway? He looked older than him but not as old as Aulë. Everything about him and his presence here was a mystery. One Mairon wished he did not want to discover so much. Curunìr stood, ready to leave. He only had to close his case and put on his jacket and then he could leave with him. He stood but before he could understand what was happening, the man was holding out his jacket for him. 

How weird. 

He still had his smirk and his devastatingly dark eyes. He could almost feel himself shake his head at his own silliness. He knew he could feel lonely sometimes but watching strangers was way beneath him. He just let the man help him out with his jacket. When he bend down to retrieve his case, he wished he had thought about it before letting the stranger have such a view of his ass. Too late, he guessed. He stood up and turned to his friend to make sure he was ready to leave. 

Mairon couldn’t help but look at the stranger one last time before leaving. There was something about him… Like a magnetic force than drew his eyes to his. That was a mistake apparently because the man gave him a big dazzling smile: 

”Maybe you’ll find inspiration someday.”

Mairon turned around and nearly ran out of the room, Curunìr on his heels. 

”What a creep.” The young man muttered as soon as they were walking home. 

They lived close to each other so Curunìr’s mother asked Mairon to look after him. Mairon never thought he was much for looking after people but he didn’t mind the young cellist. He was probably the one person he could stand longer than ten minutes. 

”I don’t know how he got here. They never let people from outside in the repetition room.” Curunìr said. 

”He looked like he knew Aulë.” Mairon wondered out loud. ”But let’s forget about it. He probably just wanted to look smart.”

”He was rather sexy.” Curunìr teased him. 

Mairon rolled his eyes. The younger cellist once told him he was gay or at least bi but made him swear he would tell no one. It made him think about his own sexuality for five minutes. Then, he went back to reading and making music. 

”He was much older than you.” Mairon replied. 

”Oh, I wouldn’t be worried about me if I were you. He seemed much more interested in you.”

Mairon rolled his eyes and tried to ignore the feeling of burning hands on his shoulders. The man had been a gentleman, of some sort, and his hands did not wander where they should. Such could not be said in the rare parties Mairon deigned going to. Not that it excused what he did. Mairon never asked him to help. 

”Anyway, he’s probably just a weird guy and hopefully, we won’t see him again.”

The autumn was drawing near and brought colder winds with it. The skies were grayer and the melancholy it brought with it was starting to get to the young man. The promise of winter to come and snow and cold… He could not deny the beauty of the season however. The last green leaves of the trees were ruffling with the wind, swallowing the sound of their steps on the sideway. They walked in silence for a while. 

”You never think about playing something else?” Curunìr asked.

”Like what?”

”I don’t know. Or leaving. Doing something else. Sometimes, I feel like… We can’t really do stuff because we’ll always be at the back…”

”You’re frustrated,” Mairon replied, ”I understand that but we can’t do « stuff » if we are not the best first. And right now, the best for us is to stick with training with Aulë.”

Curunìr only shrugged but he looked calmer. By the time they were in front of his house, he was talking about this new band he found, two cellists doing pop music covers. The younger one waved him goodbye and his mother thanked him before closing the door behind them. 

Mairon let his smile drop and walked the last few meters to his own home. He did not look forward to it. Maybe that was why he kept going to the repetitions after school: it was slightly better than home. Home was coldness, feigned interest and music notes. Everyone in the family had to play an instrument. His mother played violin, his father was a flautist and his older brother was a pianist. He did not remember how he chose the cello. He probably did not. Aulë, his father’s brother, probably suggested it. And here he was. 

His bitterness surprised him. How strange that the weather impacted on him so fully. He hadn’t slept well last night. His brother was still repeating for his next Chopin concert by the end of the semester and he couldn’t stop but listen to it. 

The big white house stood between identical white houses in the suburban part of town. In the garden, the flowers were starting to close again after the radiant summer, preparing for the coldness of winter. He took his keys and let himself in. His father was home but he was playing upstairs and Mairon didn’t want to tell him about his day. 

For some reason, he was still thinking about the utterly annoying presence of mystery-man. He went directly to his room to relieve his back from the cello’s weigh. He sat on his bed to get rid of his shoes and started sliding his jacket off his shoulders when a piece of paper fell from his pocket. He did not remember putting anything here. He picked it up and unfolded it. 

Of course. 

«Angband live at Utumno. Saturday night at 9.30»

It was followed by an unreadable symbol that must have been the band’s name and a grainy black and white picture of a band on stage. 

That was it, then. Just a man from a band trying to seduce naive young people into coming to their concert. It was a small relief, knowing what that strange man was about. He threw the paper away with his latest attempt at composition. It was all rubbish anyway. 

He didn’t want to start playing so soon after rehearsal so he settled at his desk to start working on the math homework he had proscratinated on for as long as possible without having to stay up all night. 

Diner was a dull affair. Some salad and wine for their parents. The news in the background. Pleasant and meaningless conversation. Unlike most of teenagers, Mairon didn’t have anything against his parents or his family. He didn’t hate them. He just found everything quite boring. Just like rehearsal had become boring. He felt like he trapped himself in it. It was probably ridiculous. Some sort of teenage angst that was bound to pass. So he sat there and smiled and talked about his day. He didn’t mention mystery-man. He was not so much mystery-man than creepy-man-with-a-band now. Even with his incredible eyes. 

In the evening, Mairon sat in his room with his cello. He had as gently as possible refused to see his brother perform again, pretexting a tiring day and a lot to do. He was trying some notes but it didn’t come out right. Something was missing. He was probably not all there too. Something kept turning and turning in his head. 

Thirty minutes later, he was typing the name of the mysterious band on YouTube. There was only one song available for logged-in viewers. To access the others, you had to subscribe and send an ask. What kind of band did that? He didn’t know if he wanted his account associated with a band whose first album was named: ”Perfection Comes From Rebellion”. His fingers hovered on the keyboard for a moment before clicking on the link. He quickly ducked to get his headphones. He was pretty sure nobody in the house wanted to hear that kind of music. It was described as ”depressive black metal”. 

Mairon’s experience with metal was very limited. He heard it blasted at school once or twice but he never bothered looking more into it. He had just recently discovered blues. He plugged the headphones in and started listening. 

It started calmly. Guitar. Piano. Then some percussion. A familiar deep voice quoting Milton’s Paradise Lost. Then came the screams. Deep growling. There was a sense of unleashed anger that was nearly frightening. Mairon was so tense he was afraid he was going to snap at any moment. It went on and on just as that deep feeling of anger and injustice that turns and turns in your head and refuses to go away to let you sleep. It was satisfying, in a way. It gripped his heart, just like his dark and shiny eyes… Once the song was finished, he was left staring at that black and white picture they had used for the video. 

He didn’t know how to feel about it. 

***

The next day, Mairon found himself wanting not to wear his uniform. It felt garish and too much in contrast with how he felt. He ended up wearing it all the same and went downstairs with his usual bag and his cello case. He didn’t sleep as much as he had wanted to, which was frustrating because he had given up playing to have more time to rest. 

In the kitchen, his mother was filling cups of tea with boiling water. He took an apple and wrapped his hands around the burning hot porcelain of the cup. Outside, they sky was grayer than ever, heavy with dark clouds. 

”It’s probably going to rain today, you should take your umbrella.” 

He nodded before drinking up his tea, burning his tongue, and forgetting the umbrella as he walked out. 

As he walked down the usual road to Curunìr’s house and then to school, the same sense of absurdity seized him. Every day looked like the other with very small variations. It was like being stuck at a level in a video game. Not that he played much, mind you. It mostly bored him. 

He came across Olòrin who ran up to him with a cheerful smile: ”First cello, hello” He greeted him with his usual air of cheekiness. 

”Hi. How are you?” Mairon asked.

”Fine, fine. I haven’t slept much. The piece we’re rehearsing. Such a pain in the you-know-what.” 

”No need to tell me.” The cellist replied with a smile. ”Hey, that man from yesterday…” He started before he could stop himself. ”Where does he come from?”

Olòrin lost his smile a little. Mairon was mentally hitting himself for asking. 

”Aulë said we should avoid him at all costs. He was very serious about it.”

”Yeah, he should keep him away from us. That guy kind of creeped me out yesterday and Aulë didn’t react.”

”I don’t think he will be coming back, anyway.” Olòrin replied. 

Mairon left him in front of Curunìr’s house. The younger cellist walked out as soon as Mairon knocked. 

”Hey, what’s up.” He asked. 

”As always. You?”

”I’ve decided I’m bleaching my hair.” Curunìr announced. 

”Bleaching your hair? Not sure your mom is going to agree to that.”

”Not much she can do once it’s done.”

”Oh, I think there’s a lot she can do.” Mairon laughed. His friend’s mother was not one to be crossed. For the younger cellist, being a rebel was a much more serious affair than for most of teenagers. Maybe that was why he was so adamant about it. 

”I’m not looking forward to tonight’s rehearsal.” Curunìr finally confessed with a sigh. ”Must we do it every single day?”

”Well, the first violons have to.” Mairon replied absentmindedly. 

”Have you thought about yesterday’s handsome stranger?” He teased him. 

”Do you mean « yesterday creep » ? No, I haven’t.” He lied. 

They walked up the stairs to the main hall where they will have to go separate directions to go to class. Mairon started with math. As they were parting, a group of boys from the basketball team walked to them with a ‘bad news’ smile on their faces. 

”Just go,” Mairon told Curunìr. 

The younger man would never admit it but the bullies scared him to death. He barely knew how to defend himself. Mairon wasn’t sure he knew better but he could make sure his friend went to class safe. He had known that, while music was very well considered in this high school, musicians were considered ‘too feminine’ or what not for most of the ‘sports crowd’ with few exceptions. The cruel world of high school… 

”Hey, why are you running away from us, violin turtle? How you afraid?” One of them called after Curunìr. 

”It’s a cello,” Mairon intervened, putting himself between the group and his friend. ”And he is not running away, he is just going to class.”

”It’s your business too, violin man?” One of them asked, walking so close, Mairon was tempted to take a step back. He didn’t. 

”He’s my friend, of course that’s my business.”

The one who nearly backed the cellist to the wall (to the indifference or fear of all the other students) opened his mouth to answer with another insulting statement, probably regarding his sexuality, when he was interrupted. 

”I suggest you go to class. The bell is about to ring.” A familiar voice irrupted behind the group. 

They all turned back to see who was daring to interrupt. 

It was the man from yesterday. Of course, it had to be. The day had to get worse. He was wearing a leather jacket, this time, with a white t-shirt and black trousers, ripped at one knee. He was far taller than the tallest of the bullies. He remained calm, however, almost bored. But they knew better: muttering insults under their breaths, they left Mairon alone and headed down the corridor. 

The young man was seeing red with rage. He felt his jaw tense so much his teeth gritted. He didn’t even know where that anger came from. He tried to control his voice: ”I don’t need anyone to handle my problems.”

The man lifted an eyebrow. ”You’re a feisty one.” He said, matter-of-factly.

”What are you even doing here?” 

”Applying for a job actually.” The man answered. He looked sincere. 

”A teacher slipping notes to students is really creepy.”

”So you found it, then.” The man smiled. How infuriating. 

”I need to go to class.” Mairon answered before turning his back on him and walking away. 

He didn’t have time to put his instrument in his locker so he had to sit at the back of the class with the cello leaning on the wall. Being ignored by the teacher was welcome after his encounter with the man he had hoped never to see again. He should have been grateful for scaring the bullies away but he had felt like a damsel in distress then. He did not like the sensation. He brushed a hand in his hair and put it in a messy bun. It was longer than most of the male students, but he liked it that way. He liked the copper shades it had in the sun. Not that, it was going to be sunny any time soon. 

He couldn’t have helped noticing that the man had tattoos. On his hands, probably on his arms too and on his neck, probably on his chest too. He didn’t see exactly what they were. Why was he even wondering about it? He shouldn’t have listened to him yesterday. He was so bored this creeper was fascinating him. He closed his eyes a second to shake the thoughts away. 

”Mister Thû, stay with us if you please. What is the answer of question 2. b.?” The teacher’s voice made him jump out of his rêverie. 

He looked down at his notes. Right. He was pretty sure he got this one wrong. Whatever. This day was bound to be shitty. 

***

Mairon was according his cello when Curunìr sat down next to him, slightly out of breath. 

”Guess who’s here again?” He said with a big smile. 

”Oh, please, no…” The cellist groaned. 

”What? He is sexy, admit it.”

”Maybe but he looks like he might follow you home to watch you sleep or something creepy like that.”

They settled in silence, discussing different ways to please Aulë this time. The other musicians settled soon after them and everyone started warming up, waiting for their teacher to come. 

He was five minutes late when the students realized he was indeed there. He was in fact not on the stage, but was standing in front of mystery-man and was having what looked like a very heated discussion. Aulë looked right at Mairon twice and the man smiled the whole time. The young man tried not to be too unsettled by that. He didn’t ask for it. He didn’t want to be a part of it. 

Then the man stormed out of the room. Aulë walked to the stage and cleared his throat. ”Okay, let’s being.”

He didn’t once made a comment on Mairon. He almost lost patience with Curunìr who looked equally angry. Aulë had been the one putting him with the older musicians and while Curunìr was happy with playing with Mairon, he had to work twice as much to meet the level. It was really unfair. Everything seemed unfair to Mairon’s eyes right now. The lightness and sense of joy of the music only grated on his nerves and he found himself looking forward to listening to the man’s music again. 

Once the lesson was over, Curunìr quickly put his cello back in its case and promised Mairon to wait for him outside. As soon as he was outside, Aulë approached the cellist. 

”You did good, Mairon.” He started. 

”Not good enough.” The student said. 

”You can do better.” Aulë conceded. 

”I could if I had feedback.” There was a pause. ”I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that…”

”I talked to your parents,” Aulë said as if he was confessing. ”They said you were really tired and barely there… I know you can talk to them, you can talk to me too if you want. Just… You know, that man… He is not a good man. You should stay away from him…”

”I’m trying! It’s not my fault he is always here! I’m not encouraging him!” Mairon couldn’t believe his ears. He couldn’t believe he had to say he felt uncomfortable near that man who looked like he was following him for no reason. 

”I know, I know,” Aulë tried to calm him. ”Just… You know you can talk to me if he is bothering you. I’ll take care of it, okay?”

Mairon nodded warily. 

”Try and enjoy your week-end. Everything will be better on Monday.” 

***

This day will never end, Mairon thought as he stepped outside, feeling the cold of the evening chilling his bones through his jacket. 

Of course, mystery-man was here. He was smoking, leaning on the wall with Curunìr… who was also holding a cigarette. He was becoming mad. He was. 

He walked to them and snatched his friend’s cigarette before crushing it on the ground. ”I am disappointed in you, Cu’.” He said cruelly. ”I promised your mother to look after you so she didn’t spy on your every move herself and that is how you reward my trust?” 

”Come on, Mairon…” Curunìr started. 

”I’m not blaming you as much as I blame him.” Mairon added, gesturing to the man who was mostly silent but didn’t stop smiling. ”Aulë just warned me about him. Maybe he should have warned you. He’s taking advantage of you and he makes you do stupid things. Come, let’s go now. Your mother is waiting for you…”

He took the younger man’s arm and dragged him away. He didn’t look back at the man. The last thing he wanted was to meet his eyes again.


End file.
